


Not Meant to Be

by majesticduxk



Series: SPN Pair Bingo Fills [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Angry Castiel, Angst, Biting, Blood, Cuddling, Guilty Sam, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Not a death fic, Omega Dean, Suicidal Dean, Wincest - Freeform, dean is the little spoon, depictions of methods of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From an <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/88207.html?view=34739599#t34739599">spn kinkmeme</a> prompt:</p><p>Sam decides to keep their relationship professional, he stops seeing Dean as his lover and smothers the bond they share. Dean starts to eat less, sleep less and only focus all his effort on hunts as that is the only time he is able to get any kind of interaction time with Sam. </p><p>Since an omega's mental state of mind is dependent on the emotional  care they receive from their Alpha through the bond, Dean's becoming mentally and emotionally drained. Unable to bear the pain any longer, Dean decides that it would be better for Sam if he's out of the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Things… Things couldn’t keep on going this way. When Sammy said they should act as professionals, Dean had gone along with it. He’d fucked up big time. He had to make amends. He knew that. And he’d tried to apologise, tried to explain, again and again as metaphorical and literal doors slammed in his face. 

Sammy was angry with him. Dean needed to redeem himself. 

So he set out to be the best, most obedient omega he could be, proving to Sam that they were worth it. That _he_ was worth it. 

But the truth was unavoidable. Sam’s cold shoulder showed no hint of melt. And bit by agonizing bit, the truth lodged within his heart: Dean needed his mate, but his mate didn’t need him. 

Dean was dying inside. He could handle that. He deserved that. But it was starting to affect him physically. Which meant it affected Sam. On one hunt, he’d started shaking so badly he’d dropped the gun. Sam, _his mate_ , had almost died. And once again it would have been Dean’s fault. Sam had been justifiably angry. Dean had tried to explain that he couldn’t help it, he was sorry. Sam had just scoffed at him, dropping Dean at the bunker and leaving without another word. 

Probably to find someone else, Dean thought bitterly. At least Sam wouldn’t bring them back here. At least… he hoped they wouldn’t come back here. Dean didn’t know if he could deal with that. 

He rubbed his arms, feeling the goose bumps. Even though the thermostat was turned right up, he was still cold. So cold. Maybe he was wrong. Sam ran hot, so maybe he turned it down. Dean shivered his way across the room. He never made it to the other side. A pain seared through his mating mark, spreading out to the rest of his body. 

He didn’t hear himself cry for Sam as he collapsed on the floor. 

\--

When Dean came to, he was still alive. 

He wasn’t expecting that. And truth be told, he didn’t want it. If he didn’t have Sam, he had nothing. 

\--

Sam came back. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. 

Dean was already dead to him. 

\--

Sam left again. 

At first Dean was aimless. He had no drive to do anything. Dean was empty. He felt nothing. And was that even right? Or couldn’t he even mourn the loss of his mate properly. Surely he should feel _more_? Feel something? Anything?

The only time he felt a flicker of life was when he was hunting. When he was near Sam. 

So did the only thing he could. Threw everything he had into hunting. He had to do this and he had to do it right. He pored over documents, trying to find _something_ to break the latest case. Anything to get a smile, a touch, a kind word from Sam. 

Castiel dropped in when he was surrounded by maps. He took in the hagged expression, the gaunt cheekbones and frowned. Dean was flailing. He hadn’t even noticed the angels appearance. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Blinking blearily, Dean looked up. Multiple Castiel’s wavered, before coalescing into a single frowning Angel of the Lord. Great. Another person he failed. Still, he pulled a smile from somewhere. (Based on Castiel’s expression, it may have missed the mark, though.)

“Oh, heya Cas. Need some help keeping your feather dusters in line?”

Castiel tipped his head. “I don’t believe I have any feather dusters, Dean.”

Dean’s smile was more real this time. It was was weak, but it was his first real one in… days? Weeks? Months? He didn’t know. Everything sort of blended together since Sam had destroyed their bond. 

“Meant your fine feathered friends.”

“Oh.” Castiel paused. “No. Your help is not required.” And Cas couldn’t have known how deep that cut. Distantly, Dean marveled that he still had the capacity to hurt. “I wished to speak with you on another matter. It concerns your rift with Sam.”

“Did Sam say something?” Despite his best efforts, he was unable to quell the flutter of hope in his chest. 

“No. I have not recently spoken with Sam.”

As he watched Dean’s body slump, felt his soul cry, Castiel wondered if maybe he should have a word with the younger Winchester. 

Dean’s pain was calling to him, and Castiel ached to do something to ease his burden. Dean was unaware of the bond he shared with the angel, and Castiel had never had any need to tell him. Since rescuing him from Hell, Castiel had been able to feel Dean’s stronger emotions. The omega had always been excitable, Castiel enjoying the emotional flights. 

But it hadn’t been like that for quite a while… the steady throb of pain was clouded by what Castiel now realized was Dean’s spiraling negative emptiness. 

“Dean.”

Dean’s smile had gone glassy. 

“It’s alright Cas. I’ll get through this. Sometimes… sometimes mates aren’t meant to be. Do you have a mate?”

Castiel had to say no. Angels didn’t have view sex and gender in the same way humans did. It was fascinating and confusing to watch them navigate relationships. Castiel had often had cause to feel grateful that angels no not such complications in their existence. 

Hearing a call from Hannah, Castiel bit back a sigh. Dean wasn’t ok. And yet he needed to get back to Heaven. Castiel was indeed torn. 

Dean seemed to read him though. 

“Your feather dusters need you, Cas. Don’t worry. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

\--

Sam didn’t come back that night. 

Sam sent a message saying that he needed some time. 

Sam couldn’t even take the time to call him when he ripped Dean’s heart out. 

\--

Dean had been avoiding the whiskey. He knew once he started, he wouldn’t stop. 

But now he had no reason _to_ stop. 

Staring into the bottom of the tumbler, Dean wondered when it all started to go wrong. He knew he loved too hard, too much. But he thought Sam loved him the same way. Dean sat there, trying not to think or feel, but the thoughts he had kept at bay pressed constantly at his brain. Dean was too weak to not listen.

Dean was a bad omega. 

Sam could do better. 

Sam would be better off without him. 

To his surprise, Dean left little more than a thrum of regret.

That means it’s the right decision, Dean thought to himself. And that made sense. 

It really was _until Death do us part_. Thank god the death of one mate didn’t result in the death of the other. But it did leave the other free to pursue whatever would make them happy. With Dean still around, Sam _couldn’t_ find another mate. Just another selfish action on Dean’s part. Dean was disgusting. All he did was fail his mate. 

Taking another sip of whiskey, Dean felt his throat burn as his mind ran through all the options. 

Each had the same conclusion: Sam would be better off without him. 

It would be Dean's last gift to his alpha.

There were a number of important points to consider: he didn’t want to hurt Baby. That meant crashing the car wasn’t an option. Plus he there were variables beyond his control, meaning someone else could get hurt. Or Dean might not be able to finish the job properly. And he didn’t want to inconvenience Sam, so that left out anything in the bunker. Although part of him would have liked to die at the closest thing to a home he could ever remember having, his need to be good for his alpha overrode that selfish desire. 

Despite wishing for stability, Dean had always loved the open road. It was an escape for him…

Staring blearily at the half bottle of whisky, Dean resolutely put the cap on. He couldn’t finish it yet. There would be time.

Standing he stretched, feeling the pop of tight and tired muscles, soothed by the thought of _not much longer_. 

Then, he went through the bunker. Setting it in order, and grabbing everything he needed (another bottle of whiskey, his favourite silver knife). It was easy setting the place to rights. Easy until he came to the library. In his efforts to spend as much time as possible with Sam, Dean had had many projects on the go. Of course he’d failed Sam again, only getting so far and unable to find the solutions. But maybe as his last gift (second last gift) he could order all the information he had on these hunts, make things a little easier for Sam. At least for the next little while.

Sam was smart, he would easily see what Dean had missed. 

\--

A couple of hours later and Dean had information for fifteen hunts compiled. Fuck. He was useless. Couldn’t even follow through on something this fucking easy. 

He blinked as his eyes suddenly glazed over. Raising a hand up to his face, Dean felt tears. Why would he be crying? He was doing the right thing. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life. Waste of time to wish things had been different. 

Dashing the tears from his cheeks he one last circuit of the bunker. Everyone was as neat as he could make it. He’d even packed up his room as best he could, not wanting to leave extra work for Sam. Linens were folded and placed on the bed, and his weapons resided in a box. Dean hadn’t taken them down to storage, in case Sam had some use for them. 

On the final pass of Sam’s room, Dean paused. He wished he could say goodbye to Sam in person, but recognized that would just cause his alpha more pain. Laying a kiss at the door, Dean took a deep breath. He was doing the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wasn’t having much luck. Oh, there were plenty of willing betas, and even a few omegas, but they weren’t what (or was it _who_?) he wanted. Catching the bartender’s eye, he ordered another drink. But when it arrived, he just played with it. 

“Doesn’t look like you feel like drinking tonight?”

The owner of the voice was a pretty beta, sliding into the seat next to him. His brown eyes sparkled with good humour, matching the tease in his voice. Sam knew he could have fun with him, but as he opened his mouth to flirt back, all he could of was gorgeous green eyes, freckles and pouting pink lips. 

Sam missed Dean. It had been a rough few weeks, and now, overwhelmingly, Sam missed Dean. Even as he considered the beta, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Neither flesh nor spirit were willing. He missed his omega. 

The beta suddenly crinkled his nose. “Ew! Mated? You already have a mate?” Thrusting his barstool back, he paused. “It’s disgusting, wearing those scent cover ups. You should be ashamed of yourself.“

Sam only vaguely wondered what he was talking about. All he could feel was a _longing_ that spread throughout his body. A longing to hold Dean. He needed Dean. They still needed to talk about what had happened, about the sort of choices Dean was going to make in the future, but right now Sam just wanted to forget the last few weeks had happened, and to go to sleep with his omega cradled in his arms. 

Rising Sam gestured for the bill. 

Time to go home. 

\--

The bunker was quiet when he got there. Figured. Dean was general up until all hours, doing God knows what, but the one night he wanted to find him, he was in bed, not scurrying about. Sam briefly toyed with the idea of just leaving him to sleep, but it had been too long. He needed Dean, and unless he was mistaken (and Sam was sure he was not), Dean needed him too. 

Sam dropped his bag at the kitchen door, heading straight to Dean’s room. He knocked softly, and when there was no response, he opened it. 

Even in the semi darkness he could tell there was no Dean shaped lump in the bed. Switching the light on Sam was greeted with... he wasn’t sure how to describe it. 

When they’d first moved in, they’d each chosen a room. Until recently only Sam’s had been slept in, but something bright and happy had awoken in Dean at the thought of having his own space, even if it wasn’t where he laid his head. Sam had had no reason to go into Dean’s room before now, but he was confident this was _not_ how Dean had kept it. 

Packed up. The room had been packed up, although nothing seemed to have been removed: the linens were on the bed, the weapons were in a box. The iPod was left neatly in the middle of the pillow. There was a folder on the desk. Striding over, Sam opened it, only to be greeted by pictures of the two of them. Pictures of a happy, smiling Dean and Sam. 

Ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach, Sam ran out the door, into the main bunker area. Where the fuck was Dean?

“Dean? Dean?!”

His feet automatically lead him to the library. He’d not spent much time there recently, preferring to be where Dean was not. When he got there though, piles of paper were neatly laid out. Reaching for the first one, he flicked through. Dean had been researching a possible harpy in Iowa. He had narrowed it down to a few towns, but due to the size of a harpy’s hunting area, wasn’t quite which town it was its nesting ground. Sam felt a flash of annoyance. What hadn’t Dean just asked him? Research was his expertise after all. Stubborn omega. Always trying to prove he could do everything. 

Reaching for the next pile, Sam realized it was another half researched hunt. Sam with the the third… and the fourth. 

Sam looked through fifteen piles of paper. Each was a different hunt, and each was well done, but just hadn’t found that last little bit. Even a few months ago, if Dean had bothered doing any research, he would have bought his half-assed findings to Sam, a big grin on his face, and an offer of a road trip and road sex on the way. 

And Sam would have taken him up on it. 

Sam could feel his face tighten. So much damage had been done to their relationship. He knew it could be fixed, but Dean was going to have to work his ass off proving he could be trusted again. 

Which was when it hit Sam. That’s exactly what this research was. Casting his mind back, the last seven or eight hunts had all been instigated by Dean, all fully researched, and relatively easy, for Sam. They’d known exactly what they were dealing with, and all had gone off without a hitch. Dean had been the professional, exactly as Sam had wanted. Which didn’t really explain the piles of research here. Although he’d _avoided_ the library for obvious reasons, it was on the way to his room, so he’d often glanced in, and seen the mess that Dean had made of it. 

This was not a mess. 

This was nothing like Dean. 

And Dean wasn’t here. 

Sam felt the first real flash of panic. Dean wasn’t here. The house was clean. The fucking library was clean, and _Dean wasn’t here_. 

Sam reached for his bond: he had ignored it for weeks, but figured if anything was really wrong with his mate he would _know_. Isn’t that how bonds worked? Sam felt nothing. He felt absolutely nothing. Sam closed his eyes, focusing on Dean, on their connection. 

_Dean? Dean where are you_? Sam called to his mate. At first he felt nothing. Then, it was if a small stone shifted in his mind, part of the wall keeping Dean at bay. A trickle of feeling flooded his mind. Of _sad_ and _sorry_ and _determination_. 

When the wall broke, Sam was overwhelmed with pain and fear and loss and regret. 

Sam didn’t hear himself screaming as he felt all of Dean’s emotions rush through their bond. 

\--

A rough hand on his shoulder was shaking him. Or maybe Sam was just shaking? He couldn’t tell with the aftermath of Dean’s pain still running through his body. What the fuck was going on that Dean felt like _that_?

Castiel’s face was in front of him, his mouth moving. Repeating something… something…

“Where is he?”

Sam started. Dean. Where was Dean. That’s what Sam wanted to know! 

“Dean? He’s not here. I can’t find him! But I felt… I felt…” Sam starting shaking again, feeling sick to the stomach. “Where is he, Cas?”

Castiel paused, eyed unfocused, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Watching Castiel use the last of his fading grace was painful. Not as painful as whatever Sam’s mate had just experienced though. 

“About 250 miles from here.”

Sam could read the signs, and as Castiel prepared to leave Sam gripped his arm. 

“Take me with you!”

He didn’t understand the look he received. It was full of anger. 

“Why do you wish to come? If it is only to reprimand Dean, I do not want you there. He is hurt right now and in pain – not just pain from his broken heart.”

Sam didn’t even stop to consider. “Dean needs me.”

Castiel gave him a look that would have made a smaller man cower. Much as Castiel wanted to leave him there… Sam was right. Oh, Castiel could save him. But Dean _needed_ him. It didn’t matter what had come before, right now Sam was the best thing for Dean. 

However, Castiel’s agreement was reluctant. “Very well. But if you damage him again, in even the smallest way, I will remove him and you will never see him again.”

\--

It wasn’t as if Sam imagined what had happened to Dean. He just felt his pain and knew he needed to be there. Dean had been hurt before, and having his alpha hold him, helped. 

But what was here was much more than anything Sam had considered. 

There was blood. Everywhere. 

While in the normal course of their life, blood was normal. Monsters got ganked, people got injured, the day got saved. But this wasn’t normal. And this blood was all Dean’s. 

A silver knife lay in an ever increasing pool of blood. Sam couldn’t prevent his low moan of horror as he followed the bloody path to the ragged gashed on Dean’s wrists. 

Forcing himself to look, Sam noted the way he’d cut _across_ his wrists. Why would he do that? (Although without that he and Cas would be staring at Dean’s corpse). It wasn’t a fake, or a cry for help. It was to make himself suffer, Sam realized with a start. Dean thought he deserved to suffer. The gashes were deep. 

_Had_ been deep. 

Sam didn’t notice when Castiel flew to his brother’s side, but now he noted that the bleeding had stopped. The gashes were still red and inflamed, but closed. 

“Why is he still unconscious?” Sam demanded. 

The angel stared at Sam in disbelief. 

“Dean believes there is no welcome for him on this plane. He believes you no longer want him. You withdrew your affect – something even _I_ realize an omega requires from their alpha. And then you shut down your bond…”

“I did no such thing!” Sam interrupted. Then flushed. Maybe that wasn’t true? When he’d searched for Dean, he hadn’t been able to feel him at all. He’d had to search for the bond, breaking through whatever it was that stopped him from feeling his mate. He’d assumed that Dean had done something. But… but Dean wasn’t _capable_ of shutting Sam out. So it _must_ have been Sam. And the affection… It had been Sam that demanded they have a strictly professional relationship. Sam had needed that space from Dean, unable to deal with what he had done. 

Sam had needed to heal. 

“We agreed to keep it professional.” 

Even to Sam’s ears it sounded defensive. Castiel didn’t even bother responding. 

“I cannot wake him. I have healed his physical wounds, but…” Castiel was at a loss. He didn’t _feel_ things the same way a human did, although he recognized he had deep feelings for Dean. Perhaps he even loved him. At the very least, seeing his friend suffering and in pain, and knowing he could do _nothing_? Castiel felt bitterness flood his mouth. 

Castiel knew he was unable to give Dean all that he required. Humans were complicated enough without the added alpha/omega bonds. He had no idea of how to proceed. But when - _if_ \- Sam and Dean’s mating bond shattered, Castiel felt as certain as he ever had, that he could nurse Dean back to health. It wouldn’t be the same, but Castiel could look after him, giving him the happy and content life he deserved. 

However, now was not that time. Castiel could feel the bond was still present: it flickered, pulsing and pushing and _searching_ for its other half. Castiel looked at Sam.   
If you shatter your bond now I am confident I can heal him. I can keep him alive. And whole. If you wait much longer I am not sure I can guarantee it.”

It wasn’t true. Although Dean would suffer more.

“Dean is mine!” Sam roared, moving forward at last. ”Dean and I are soulmates. He is mine to look after, just as he looks after me!”

The look Castiel gave him was venomous. “And this is how you look after him? It is due to your _neglect_ that Dean is in this position. His intent was to take his life so that you would be free to pursue someone _better_.”

Sam snarled and fell to his knees beside Castiel, reaching out and taking his brother in his arms. 

“Take us back to the bunker. “

To his credit, Castiel did not argue. 

Sam blinked and shifted unsteadily as they arrived in the library. While Sam’s eyes were only for Dean, Castiel looked around the room. 

“Dean has been researching hunts to spend time with you.” Sam tried to ignore the angel, instead willing Dean to wake up. “He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat. He spends all his time researching, as it is the only time you spend with him. The only time you touch him. On the last hunt he dropped his weapon. You had already depressed the bond from your side. As an omega he requires your attentions – mental through the bond – as well as physical. For weeks now, you have denied him both.” Castiel touched the papers. “I’m surprised he could walk, let alone drive.”

Sam felt the guilt he had been ignoring spread throughout his body, like a malignant tumour. 

“Right now, either you or I could bring him back. Right now Dean just needs someone to anchor to. Either you as his alpha or me…”

“You as what?” snarled Sam. How could Castiel have _anything_ with Dean?

“Dean and I share a profound bound.” Castiel was steady as always. “Our bond is different to yours. More… more that of caretaker and child. Or perhaps a mother duck?” Castiel looked pleased at the description, expression softening as he thought of Dean as his duckling. It hardened again, as he faced the alpha. “It is an angelic thing, but believe me, Sam, I _can_ and I _will_ look after Dean should I deem it necessary.”

Sam snarled again, holding Dean close. He was still reeling. Dean was in this condition due to Sam’s neglect. He didn’t know how he would make it up to him, and now wasn’t the time to think on it. But now that he had taken responsibility, he would be the one to heal him, not some angel of the fucking lord. 

Wait. 

“You’d take him away from me?”

Castiel’s face was inscrutable. “I would. To keep him here, with the alpha that rejected him would be nothing short of cruel.”

“No!” Castiel was _not_ getting his hands on Dean. “I… I love Dean.”

It was true. Sam loved Dean. He’d been so angry because he trusted him. He’d been furious, and yes, selfish. As you would expect of anyone! But not once had he stopped loving Dean. That had never been clearer now that Dean was on the edge of being taken away. 

Sam’s shifted his eyes to his brother. Dean was still unconscious. His face was thinner, his brow lined. 

And Sam did this to him. 

“I love him,” Sam repeated softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Long seconds passed. Sam clutched Dean tighter as he faced off with a protective, and justifiably pissed off, Angel of the Lord. Eventually, Castiel nodded, and Sam felt his breath leave him in a rush. Castiel really _could_ take Dean, and Sam would be powerless to stop it. 

“I can see your love for him, Sam.” Castiel's voice was mild, and Sam thought he’d gotten off lightly, but Castiel’s next words were all righteous fury. “But remember, should Dean be harmed in any way again, I will not hesitate to sever your mating bond and remove him.”

Part of Sam wanted to argue. Dean was _his_ mate and Castiel had no right to decide for them. But if he did this again… well, it wouldn’t happen. Sam would rather kill himself than hurt Dean like this. He'd learnt his lesson, and if Castiel thought he could take Dean, well, he'd have a have a fight on his hands. But for the moment, Sam was beyond arguing. So he just nodded tiredly. He would fix this, and then figure out what to do. 

“I’m taking him to our room – my room,” he added at Castiel’s confused expression. “Could you please place hot water and clean towels in there?”

The angel nodded. “It is done.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. 

Surprisingly, Castiel broke it. “I will now take my leave. But this is your only warning, Sam. Do this again and I will take Dean somewhere safe. Away from you.”

There was another long look between the two, before Castiel disappeared. 

\--

Sighing, Sam felt weariness sink into his very bones. And anger. A dark, furious rage, directed primarily at himself. 

How could he have hurt his mate like this? And how could he have not _realised_ how it was affecting Dean?

Grunting, Sam pushed himself to his feet, lifting Dean princess-style. Once he had his precious cargo secured in his arms, he strode to his room, and true to his word, Castiel had placed steaming bowls of water and plenty of clean towels on the dresser, with easy access from Sam's bed. 

Carefully laying Dean on the bed, Sam crawled up to the headboard, before shifting Dean again, settling him between his spread legs, Dean’s back against Sam’s chest. 

Dean looked so pale and small and weak. So _unDeanlike_. 

For a moment he wavered. Castiel was right. He couldn’t do this – he had no right! He didn’t deserve to have Dean here. This was _his_ fault. He’d filled Dean with such despair he’d seen no other way out than to kill himself. 

But Castiel had left, leaving Dean to Sam's care. 

Which meant the angel trusted him. 

Which meant he _could_ look after dean. 

Breathe, Sam. Just breathe, he told himself. The self-flagellation could wait until later.

One deep breath, followed by another. And then another. Sam could do this. He wouldn’t fail his brother again. Finally, breathing under control he glanced at his brother. That look was enough to undo all his good work, as Sam felt tears fill his eyes. 

“Oh, Dean.”

His brother, his mate, his _omega_ was still unconscious. Sam's arms tightened automatically.

“Please, please come back to me, Dean. I love you.”

There was no response to Sam’s words. No movement at all. A spike of fear ran through his body. Surely Dean wasn’t… shaking his head to clear his panic, Sam laid two fingers against Dean’s throat, desperate to feel his pulse. Relief pulsed through his body in time with the fluttering under his fingers. It was thready, but present. 

For fuck’s sake, this wasn't helping Dean. Sam needed to pull himself together. 

Ensuring his brother was supported against him, Sam reached across to the dresser, wetting the first of the towels. Bringing Dean’s wrist towards his chest, Sam started gently started cleaning the dried and flaking blood from the healed wounds. 

“They might scar, Dean. I hope they don’t. Not because I think they’re ugly – nothing about you is ugly – but it would be a… a constant reminder of an unhappy time. It has been unhappy, Dean. I know this is of my own making.” Sam couldn’t stop the bitter bark of laughter. “For someone who prides themselves on communication, I sure managed to fuck that up.” Sam paused, gently scrubbing at a resistant patch of blood. “You were amazing, the way you tried to talk to me. I know how hard it is even _admitting_ you have feelings. I fucked up. I fucked up with you, Dean. You’re the most important person to me. And the fact that I made you feel otherwise? That... I'll forever be ashamed of that. It’ll never happen again. _Never_.”

Sam threw the bloody towel at the floor, wetting another. He idly noted his hands were shaking. It was the blood. So much blood. So much of _Dean’s_ blood. But Sam knew this was nothing to the hurt he had inflicted on Dean’s heart. He wasn’t ashamed to blink back more tears. 

Clearing his throat he continued to talk. “I don’t like what you did, Dean. I never will. But I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. We should have talked. I should have listened. You… you did that for me out of love. I… I wish you hadn’t. I wish you hadn’t taken my choices away. But it happened. And my response… my response was not loving. You’re my omega. Regardless of how angry I am, you are always my omega. And I didn’t act like your alpha. And I’ll always have to live with that. We both will. But I’ll never again give you cause to doubt how much I love you, Dean. Because I do. I love you so much. You… you’re my everything.”

When Dean’s wrist was as clean as he could get it, Sam held it still, taking it all in. While the blood was gone, the gash was red and inflamed. Sam raised Dean’s hand until he could reach it, at which point he leaned down to brush his lips across the swollen wound, laying small soft kisses across the width of Dean’s wrist. 

“You did this the hard way, Dean. Always the hard way. Why do you think you need to _suffer_ Dean? You… you deserve so much good. You are such a _good_ person. Kind, caring, compassionate, loving. You care about everyone. Even me. You care about me a lot more than I deserve.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of Dean’s head, Sam gently laid the now clean hand across Dean’s belly, before picking up the other one to give it the same treatment. He gently wet another towel, noting that Cas must have done something, because the water was still hot. Despite their… _issues_ … he sent a thankful prayer to him. Sam bared Dean’s wrist, wiping away the blood, revealing the jagged flesh beneath. 

Sam doesn’t even know what words came out of his mouth. He whispered love and encouragement. Telling Dean how _good_ he was, what a wonderful omega. How proud he was that Dean is his. He promises to never leave him again, that they will talk about things. Talk about things until even Sam is sick of talking.

“You are so important to me, sweetheart. I need you. I _need_ you. I… you are my everything, Dean.” 

Heaving a sigh, he paused, before looking down at Dean again. Only to meet wide green eyes. 

“Dean!”

Dean flinched away from Sam’s voice, struggling in his arms. Sam loosened his grip – he didn't want Dean to hurt himself trying to get away. But when he went to throw himself off the bed, Sam drew the line. Right now the only place Dean was going to be was safe in Sam's arms. Using his longer reach, he grabbed Dean arm, pulling him back. 

“Sam!”

Ignoring Dean’s angry cry (just for the time being. Sam has learnt his lesson about listening), he maneuvered Dean back into his arms. 

“Stop, Sam!”

Sam’s quickly reached around Dean, pinning him firmly against Sam's chest. While Sam wanted nothing more than to hold Dean with both arms, cuddling him close, he knew he needed an arm free. Even weakened as he wise, Dean could be a wily bastard. Instead, Sam lay one long leg over both of Dean’s, effectively trapping his brother. 

Dean’s annoyed look was so much like the old Dean, Sam could cry. Again. But it didn't last. The bright, feisty sparkle faded into something dull and matte. 

“What are you doing, Sam?”

The voice is flat. It was the voice he used when he felt like his back was up against a wall, and there was no escape. Sam’s heart bled. He did this. Sam did this to Dean. 

“Well, I’ve just been cleaning your wrists, which Cas healed for you. And now I am attempting to keeping my squirmy omega in my arms. Right where he belongs.”

Sam didn’t wince that the rejection he felt radiating through Dean’s body. He’d expected this, and deserved nothing else. 

“Sam… you don’t have to do this just because… I don’t…” Dean had never been good at talking about things. _Feelings_. And a near death experience hadn’t suddenly changed that. Dean looked at Sam out of the corner of his eyes. Why? 

He was waiting, Sam realised. Waiting for Sam to jump in with his own interpretation of what happened. Waiting for Sam to ignore what he said, discount it. 

In effect waiting for Sam to do what he’d been doing for weeks. 

Well, Sam was a changed man. Instead of jumping in, he just steadily looked at Dean, occasionally adjusting his hold when the silence got too much and Dean struggled for his freedom . Sam knew that if he let Dean go now, he’d be out that door, and Sam would never see him again. 

That was not an acceptable outcome. 

 

He knew Dean would cave. Dean was uncomfortable with silence. Even more so, since Sam had stopped giving him any space to speak.

So Sam waited. 

“Why did you save me?”

The question was so quiet Sam almost missed it. 

“Because I love you.”

Dean turned his face away, but Sam caught the tell-tale glimmer of tears on his cheeks. While he longed to fill the gap, smother Dean in his words of apology and promises of change, he couldn’t. Once again, Sam needed to wait for Dean. 

“Don’t lie to me. I know… I know I fucked up. I know I…” Dean’s voice trailed off. Sam bit his tongue, and was soon rewarded with Dean’s voice. “You deserve so much more, Sam! I’m fucking useless. You were right to cut our bond. I’m just sorry I kept you down for so long, and I…”

Using his free hand, Sam turned Dean’s face towards him. He barely had time to take in the tear filled eyes, before he his mouth was on Dean’s, pushing and taking and leaving his omega under no illusions as to what he wanted.

“I have _never_ wanted anyone other than you, Dean. You’re it for me. If you had somehow managed to actually…” Sam tripped on the words, but forced them out, “If you’d managed to _kill_ yourself, then it would have been for nothing, because I would have followed you as soon as I could.”

Dean was shaking his head, rejecting the words before Sam had finished speaking. “No! You don’t do that, Sammy! You can't do that! You’re important, and you deserve to be happy, have someone who is worthy…”

Sam growled. The alpha in him furious at his omega’s lack of self-worth. Dean instinctively bared his throat, and Sam didn’t stop to think, lowering his head to _bite_. He felt skin split and blood coat his lips. More importantly he felt their bond awaken… he felt Dean’s sorrow and loss and self-loathing. Growling into Dean’s throat, he sent all his love through the bond, his shock at realizing Dean wasn’t home, his panic when he’d felt the pain through the bond, and his fear at losing the one love of his life. 

Dean. 

Dean lay in his arms, not fighting against the bond or the flood of emotion that went with it. 

At Dean's acquiescence, Sam lessened the pressure of his teeth, instead lapping at the wound, worrying at the edges, before pulling back to look at it. His claim, the mark that painted Dean as _Sam’s_. Sam growled into Dean's skin. He'd never let it fade again. 

“No more, Dean. No more of this. You didn’t fuck up - _we_ fucked up. I was angry.” He felt Dean shiver in his arms. Their bond was so fresh, Dean couldn't filter out _anything_. Sam sight and corrected himself. “I _am_ angry. But I should have spoken to you. No. I should have listened to you. This… this situation now is my fault. I _neglected_ you…” 

Sam didn’t have the words to express his horror at what he had done. Luckily, he didn’t need any. 

Dean slowly, raised himself, wriggling out from under Sam's legs and twisting on his lap until he faced his alpha. There was still doubt there, still fear, but he could _feel_ Sam’s love, and fear, and need. Sam needed Dean just as much as Dean needed Sam. 

“I can’t live without you, Sammy.”

Sam sighed. But it wasn’t an unhappy sigh. 

“I know.”

Dean was fading fast. He was still pallid and grey with blood loss and exhaustion. Sam scooped Dean up again, ignoring the annoyed “Sam!” before gently settling him back on the bed. Making sure his omega was comfortable, Sam then moulded himself to his brothers back, pulling him back into his arms, ankles tangling. Dean couldn’t go anywhere without Sam knowing – and Sam couldn’t leave without alerting Dean. 

There was still work to do. There was still a lot of trust to rebuild on both sides. But Sam knew he was lucky – so lucky – that Dean would forgive him anything. There would still be harsh words, and tears. But there would also be trust and forgiveness and love. 

Sam snuggled deeper into Dean. His brother had already fallen asleep. Physically and emotionally exhausted. Yes, there would be time for all that. For now though, Sam closed his eyes, drifting to sleep as he held Dean protectively in his arms: Dean was exactly where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the prompt called for Sam showing Dean how much he loved him. I don't know that I got that... I think they both just need the cuddles. And yes, Dean is the little spoon. Dean is always the little spoon.

**Author's Note:**

> part 3 will be up in the next couple of days

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Heart of the Matter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201310) by [genevra1676](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevra1676/pseuds/genevra1676)




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